


A Reflection In Magma

by Pyrotechnics_Service



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Gen, One-Shot, Post-RE5, super short and kinda dreamlike but hey i actually finished something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26028163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyrotechnics_Service/pseuds/Pyrotechnics_Service
Summary: The face, that famous, smug face that Chris had hated, -- was now mangled beyond recognition.The last vestige of Wesker. Gone.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	A Reflection In Magma

The wind rustled the blackened trees, disturbing what little leaves they had left.

It made tornadoes out of the dirt on the ground, before pushing them over the lip of the volcano. 

It made creases in the magma surface, pushing the bits of steel and plastic to the sides of the molten pool. 

It tugged harshly at the scarf of the figure standing over the broken body of Albert Wesker.

Charred tentacles drifted through the lava, like a demented spider web. Metal remained tangled in the web, its jagged corners cutting into the blackened tentacle flesh. Letting lifeblood bleed out into the magma. The Uroboros core of the body still glowed dimly, signalling that somehow, the host was still alive. But not for long. 

But the face had suffered the most. 

The face, that famous, smug face that Chris had hated, -- was now mangled beyond recognition. 

The last vestige of Wesker. Gone.

The figure sighed, shaking his head. 

As he did, the red scarf slipped down a bit on his cheeks. 

Revealing old scars, toughened burn marks left to heal.

But never had. 

“Pity. You were the best one.” The figure said, turning from the body. 

There was a cough.

Thick and hacking. 

And Wesker began to move. 

He pulled his blackened arm up, and set it down on the soil.

Right on the figure’s bootmark. 

The figure paused.

Looked back at Wesker.

Whose eyelids were wrenched back open.

Letting the irises glow with white-hot fury. 

He began to pull, yanking himself out of the lava.

“Chrissssssssss…..CHRISSSSSSSSS….” he hissed, dragging himself further out.

The figure turned back.

“Interesting.” he said, cocking his head. “The determination is admirable.”

Wesker was nearly out of the lava now, his right leg fumbling for purchase on the rim of the volcano. 

“Of course, I would expect nothing less.”

The figure reached into his coat.

Withdrawing a sleek Samurai Edge.

And shot Wesker in the head. 

Immediately the mutant core went dead.

The eyes’ glow faded

The body crumpled.

Like a sheet of paper being closed in a fist.

The figure put away his gun.

“Unfortunately, there can only be one.”

He reached up, pulling his scarf down on his face.

And through the reddened, inflamed burns, 

Gotten from a long-seethed over incident,

The face was an exact copy of Wesker’s.

“And you, you just aren’t the original.”

The real Wesker knelt.

He grasped his copy’s forearm and pulled it gently.

It broke off as easily as a plastic hinge.

Wesker looked at it, a small smirk playing on his lips, before standing up. 

And kicking his copy back into the magma. 

As the body sank back into the orange lava, Wesker reflected on this latest foray. 

Clone 890 was a near success. The only flaws were that its temperament ran much too hot and it destabilized quite severely towards the end. 

But it didn’t really matter. Its purpose had been fulfilled. 

Chris now thought he was dead, and a sample of the Uroboros virus, that the clone had managed to create, was now in his hands.

The wind roared again, making Wesker wince in pain.

He pulled his scarf back up, over his damaged face, protecting his scars from the harsh wind. 

Yes, those scars had taught him not to underestimate Chris. And because of that, he’d had to forego small victories like killing Spencer, or making the viruses himself. 

But it would make his long term victory that much sweeter. 

And those inferior copies of himself were a necessary evil.

After all, clones moved so much faster, tried so much harder, reached so much farther, as long as they thought they were the real thing. 

And that feeling was so easy to take advantage of. 

He chuckled through his scarf and tucked his clone’s arm underneath his coat. 

And began his walk down the volcano.

As Wesker walked down from the volcano, the wind continued to roar.

Howling through the blackened trees. 

Whipping up the dirt.

Making waves in the magma surface.

As though it knew bad things were to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I wrote this a few months back while listening to Made in Abyss-- First Layer. I've had my suspicions about Wesker's death for a while (and it's totally not because he's my favorite character or anything lol) and I wanted to play with that a bit. I think it gets too purpley around the beginning and then dissolves into stream of consciousness, but I think it's solid, so I'm posting it. Hope you liked it!


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